The Term-Negator
by zzetta13
Summary: Set in a post-apocalyptic future where machines have used humankind's' weaponry to nearly destroy the world and replace humanity as the dominant ruler over our planet. There were survivors, but humankind's' numbers grow fewer each day.


_**The Term–Negator: 1**_

"_**Sacrifices"**_

Author's note: _They sent me out, yeah, on search and destroy missions. It wasn't said (in so many words) but, "__**Kill the Bastards**__" was the main jest of the message given to those of us who'd met the criteria….. _

_Assassin... that title sounded almost as a dirty word to me. I much preferred to be called a "__**Cleanser**__". Yeah, that suited more the obligation that I felt I had undertaken. "__**Cleanser**__", Cleanser of a place that had been overrun by soulless creations that could seal the doom of the world, and I couldn't let that happen, even though… in these times, the world had become a dark and dreadful place. _

_************ Sacrifices ***********_

I had only been out in the wilds for three months, three months of hunting and searching, three months of seeking the two legged creature that had, at one time, ruled over this planet (a world where human intellect once had been dominate).

I had come across a few folk, most were dead now, I _could_ tell you _how_ they had died…..but I won't. My confession might cause you to think ill of me, misjudge my character. And so, as of this moment, you needn't know about their deaths, or about me, or of the truth as such.

What I can tell you is that my name is Bishop, just Bishop; there are no secondary names up here on the surface of this world. People don't want to know much about you or your past, not unless you're related…..or they have full trust in who you are, or were, in the past. There is so much deceit in the world these days, so much deception…. that the living, take spoken words at less than face value. Individuals these days tend to put more trust in you due to your actions and deeds, rather than the words that come out of your mouth. Trust, it's a hard thing to come by…

And, that was the question that remained still… about my two traveling companions Kent and Sarah. They were about my age, thirty-five I would say, but rather than knowing for sure their ages, I had just made a rough estimate. People didn't discuss their ages since the war, and digging into a person's past might evoke suspicion, and suspicion led to bad things happening.

(Machines, the machines were still searching for the missing Sarah Conner at this point, and her offspring. It was my parameters to find them if I could. A duty I felt devotedly obligated to attain).

Anyway, about me, my name is Bishop as you know, and the man walking four steps behind me is Kent. Kent, Sarah and I have been together for about two out of the three months that I have been walking around up here on the surface…..and I still remain in the dark about who they were in the world prior to Armageddon. I know little about them, as they do me; still we have bonded in a united cause. They say that they've heard rumors of a _tribe_, a nest of humans several miles south of here. They have told me that they were en-root to that camp when they stumbled upon me. Well this was bit of luck, and it had fallen perfectly into my lap, almost into one of my programmed scenarios.

One of my missions was to find groups of people still alive, find them and discover their identities. Sarah was defiantly a name on my list of priorities. Of course one couldn't be sure if this was the actual true Sarah Conner, the woman of legend. There were no pictures remaining of her.

Sarah Conner, mother of John Conner, future leader of the mythical rebellion of the human race, had almost been set as a goddess on _Mount Olympus _by the human populace. Her name was near worshiped. It was spoken that she had known what was coming before it all had started. Still, I do know that individuals change their names, or withhold information to keep themselves safe out in the world. They keep their true identities secret.

How the leadership is privy to future events I'm not programmed to be familiar with, but I am sure of this, secrets have been kept from individuals for years, and nations have kept entire countries blindfolded as to such issues since the dawn of time. Not that I like it, but I understand that it happens.

Anyway, I also wanted to know where the _tribe_ Sarah and Kent had spoken of was located, I had my reasons. Too, I had told them that I knew of a location where a _tribe_ of humans were in hiding, but it was far further to the north, and would take us a greater length of time to reach them.

It was a lie of course. I didn't know where a camp of humans lay hidden north of us. It was the standard answer given by strangers that fell upon one another these days (sort of the idea that one had secret information, something of worth to show that it were better keeping around, than putting a bullet to their brain).

A human life was like gold these days, and if there was one thing that the machines had learned from humans, it was that they (the machines) wanted all the gold. The metaphor that a living human soul was like gold was becoming more of a reality every day. The human race was being exhausted, wiped out, the numbers were becoming fewer each passing hour, fewer in such a manner that each new birth was considered (by the humans) to be a blessing.

Although there were great numbers of people stowed away in the prison camps of the **machines** (the neo gods of the new earth), there were also numbers who had banded together on the outside, preferring to stand against those soulless monstrosities in guerrilla warfare. The trouble with that was, that many of these groups were unorganized and very vulnerable. If located they could easily be exterminated.

Kent had wanted to go north, to hunt for the _tribe_ that I knew about, but my suggestion was to head south, south to link up with those people who were closer. Sara agreed with my suggestion, so for the past few days our trek had been southward.

Kent and I had headed out this particular morning on a hunting expedition. One to gather food, while Sarah was left behind at the rudimentary camp we'd established. She had remained at camp due to a bout of illness, still, She was well armed; people didn't perform the most natural and private of functions these days without carrying a weapon, and having Kent out here in the woods with me, scavenging, gave me the opportunity to pick his brain. The trust issue was a concern of priority these days and it took a long time for people to open up to one another.

Did I trust Kent or Sara, _Hell no_! But I imagine it was reflected in their brains as well.

As we walked along, through the underbrush, Kent and I held bits and pieces of conversation, but nothing that would give ones' identity away. Each of us knew that _**Terminators**_ had been released out into the wild-lands to begin tracking the smaller tribes of humans which had not banded with the larger armies. The idea was to extinguish all humans of intellect and power (cut off the head of the resistance if you will). That design would leave the rest of the creation leaderless, make them easier to conquer. If an individual was found to have been a doctor, military leader, politician, or of any other leadership position before the war (some sort of profession that could be used to rally a force against them), then that individual was immediately executed by the Terminators. It was also, the reason why folk didn't share their past with strangers.

Terminators, out in the wild, were more dangerous than the metal cyborgs that grouped together combing the wastelands of the cities and towns. Those cyborgs were considered inferior, with only the mind capacity to destroy (even though machines felt themselves superior to the human race, they were already creating a sub-servant species that in the future could be called "slaves").

As Kent and I walked along I suddenly became aware of a slight noise coming from ahead of us. I turned to the man behind me and put a finger to my lips demonstrating for him to remain silent. I gripped my weapon even tighter and motioned for him to circle around and approach from the flank. He followed my direction without challenge.

Next I made ready to continue forward. I steadily and stealthy moved ahead, within thirty feet I peeked around some bushes and found a man encamped there, squatting above a fresh campfire, warming his hands. "_Nice deception_", I thought to myself as I continued forward weapon raised. I entered into his circle of security undetected. But only just before he became aware of me….. his eyes lit up.

"HOLD!...(удерживать)" I spoke in Russian. Then continued," Кто ты такой и что ты хочешь ", (Who are you and what do you want)?

He came to his feet, hands raised, very aware of the gun pointed at his head.

"Меня зовут Декстер, и я хочу, чтобы подружиться." (My name is Dexter and I want to make friends)", he spoke without a hint of stain.

My Russian is very brittle and contains an extremely irritable accent (The Underground had given me a crash course in the language, so it was understandable that I sucked at speaking it, still, although I should be pitied at speaking the language, I understood it very well).

While my tongue was deplorable, I could see that his was perfect, not a deflection in cause or manner. I lowered my weapon a bit, he relaxed. We stood there momentarily in silence until Kent arrived. When my partner entered into the circle the man immediately began to speak to him in Russian, Kent answered in perfect harmony.

At this I raised my weapon, fired, and took both of their heads off.

_************ Epilogue ***********_

It was horrible, what I'd done, but I had played my trump card. It was a trick that had been taught to me by the Underground, a ploy that the Machines had not yet become aware of.

In a country of dominantly "_english_" speaking citizens, how could one stumble upon a stranger and find that they could speak an alternate language so perfectly? It was almost a dead give-away (excuse the pun), a sure bet that a machine should not respond to words spoken to them in alternate tongue. Sure their process chips were fast, and were able to analyze and access the danger of a situation very rapidly. Still, It was the deceit factor that those micro-managed punks had trouble with.

Humans were invariable liars and con-artists. Our tricks and abilities at deception are likely better mastered by no other spirit in the universe.

I hated that I had to kill these two men, well machines, especially Kent. But as I stood there watching the sparks fly from the wiring of their severed heads, I knew that _**Sacrifices**_ had to be made. And becoming friends with a Terminator would only lead to ones' death.

I thought about Sarah and what I would tell her once I returned to camp. Was she a cyborg too?

There was still a day or two before we reached the southern camp, I did have time to find out.

END CHAPTER 1


End file.
